The Messenger
by La Fata Morgana
Summary: Prolouge to "The North-East Road", featuring my very own super-special Elf, Tinuviel Aiwe.


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**The Messenger******

by Morgana   
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**Disclaimer: **Tolkien owns it all. I own Tinuviel, Orondil, their swords and their horses. HAW.   
  


The Rohirrim stallion beneath her exudes more confidence and agility than the woman riding him. The rider cloaked in the grey-green, everchaging fabric of Lorien is in a foul mood. The Pass leading up to Rivendell is battered by a rain that makes the twilight seem gloomier than it ought in what was generally a merry place. She takes a hand off the reins for a moment to draw her cloak closer about her and tug the warm gloves up her arm. The horse, dripping with water and quivering with a chill, picks up an uneasy canter to the gates of Imladris. She longed for the warmth of her own fire. Raising her hand to the gate guard, she calls out a greeting in Quenya. 

Hooves splash in the mud by the stone paths, and she leans down to croon, just a few more words of encouragement from the dripping wet Elven woman. Almost there. It had been a horrible ride from Durhisië to Rivendell, and she intended to deliver the message her father had bade her send to Lord Elrond. But she cared not to see him this night. Not in this state - unrested, looking unruly and drenched, and in a sour temper that likened her to the deameanor of an Orc at the moment. She had arranged for lodging with a cousin of hers, who lived in the city. Lady or not, she had no desire to be bidden stay at the house of the elf lord. 

Tinuviel Aiwe, having visited before carrying many messages, reaches the house with quick relief. A small stable where two horses stood, warm and dry, was the first destination. Settling Laurëlhach into the stables, she tends the horse, drying his black coat with her own cloak. Of Rohan, she was not, but she loved her horse as they did, and had much contact with the Rohirrim. She manages a sour smile out to a lone figure, Elven as well, entering past the gates not long after she, but she cannot muster more - her mood will not permit it. "Whoever saw an unhappy Elf!" A voice speaks from behind her. A tall, fair Elf with a soft voice. "Ah, Orondil." Tinuviel speaks. "I knew not you would be here." Her brother had been on errant for months. 

"I came to pause a while here. What news? Father sends you?" Orondil asks, helping her tend the stallion. "He does. With a message to Elrond. But it shall wait, for I am in no temper to greet the Half-Elven. What a miserable night! And I, not the only journeying into Rivendell in the rain. There was another traveller entering after me!" 

"What an unhappy fellow that must be as well!" Orondil answered, grabbing his sister in for a hug. "If we see him, we must invite him in for shelter." Tinuviel nodded, patting Laurëlhach and stepping forth from the stable with her brother. "Ai, what a wretched rain that pours over fair Imladris!" Orondil reiterated, to the quirk of Tinuviel's lips. Tinuviel, the picture of Elven grace and natural beauty, tosses back her hood and glances over the road. Indeed, she hoped the little one who had come behind her had lodging for the evening, for this was no night to sit out on the balconies of Rivendell. Twitching her cloak out of the mud, she steps towards the warmly lit entrance. 

"A moment, Orondil, before we step inside and greet Morwyn. Touble reached me on the roads here. Brave Laurëlhach ran like the wind to save me from orc-bows. What evil is lurking in Rivendell?" Tinuviel asks, pushing back plastered-down blond hair. "Not -in- Rivendell, sister, but on the roads around it. I myself too an arrow on the way here. Wretched orcs patrol up to the borders, harassing travellers. It is not safe." Tinuviel nods, a troubles expression creeping onto her features. Father sent me to Elrond to warn of dark happenings near our very home, but it seems evil moves faster than a rider." 

Casting his blue gaze once more about the street, Orondil takes the Elf-woman's hand and leads her to the door. "Come inside, dear sister, and warm yourself. We should like to hear your song, and tidings from home. No, do not blush, you are fairer a singer than any of us!" Tinuviel sighs heavily, harassed. "I am not, scoundrel, and you would do well to tread lightly with your jest this evening, fo as you said, an unhappy Elf am I." But despite her words, Tinuviel shadowed a chuckle. "I know your ways, Lady Tinuviel, and you are merely hungry." Orondil answered. "Leave me be! I am supposed to be of shrewish disposition, or else father may marry me off!" 

Orondil laughed, stepping inside with sister in tow. "He is too wise for that. He has no better diplomat to Rohan. Morwyn is out, but we shall feed ourselves none the less." Tinuviel smiles and shrugs off her cloak, greeting the warmth. This may yet be a decent evening. "It has been long since I ventured forth from Durhisië or Rohan," she comments. "The world is ever changing, Nightingale. The Dark Lord is the reason for the evils in the land. Sarumon the White has allied himself with the darkness, and Isengard is no longer a haven of wisdom." Orondil says, sighing. "This is have learned in my journeys, for just last month on my way here, I strayed close to the tower and could not believe the sight." 

Tinuviel grumbles, the disturbing reports from across her father's lands making sense. "I fear I am too late to bear news of this to Elrond, if the shadow is thus far advanced." Orondil affects a surprised expression. "Elrond has already called for a secret council. Men, Elves," And here, he grimaced, "Dwarves, and Hobbits." Raising a blonde brow, his sister coonsiders him a long while. "And how, praytell, did you learn of this council, if it is a secret, dear Orondil." Tinuviel asks, settling herself on the corner of the intricately carved table. Amusement colors her features. "I am a Ranger, am I not? The Lord Elrond's sons spoke of it to me." "Lucky you." "Indeed." 

"So you meant to tell me I have come all this way to tell Lord Elrond of something he already knows." Tinuviel asks, casting her glacial gaze into the warm fire. "Bother. Right waste of time, that was." The equestrian quips, folding her arms across her chest. "Come now. Do not be angry." Her brother could not soothe her, though. 

"All this way, soaking wet! I told father to send someone else! And now I have wasted all this time here, that might better be spent in Rohan!" Tinuviel grumbles, picking up the mug her brother placed beside her, filled with sweet mead. "I might have had that contract worked out if I hadn't had to ride all the way here! Ah, cursed fate." Orondil, knowing better than to try and talk her out of her temper, nods sagely, the silent listener to her disposition. It had always been so. "Ah, no matter now." Tinuviel finally says, rubbing warmth into her still-chilled figure. "Where might I sleep, Orondil? I have no mind for speech or song after this tiding." 

Chuckling, the slim Elf stood and directed her down the hall to the room beside his. "Rest there through the evening, sweet Nightingale. Lord Elrond may yet wish to hear of the events of our land, when dawn breaks." Tinuviel, gratefully pressing a kiss to his cheek, took to her room with silent step. It was a long while before she slept.   


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Just another character study from your friendly neighborhood Poncey Elf-Wench. Review me.   
~Morgana 

By the way, incase anyone's interested in Tinuviel - http://profiles.yahoo.com/Tinuviel_Aiwe 


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